Severus: A Portrait of the Potions Master as a Young Man

A Portrait of the Potions Master as a Young Man

By Daphne Dunham

Chapter 18: A Very Great Man

* * * * *

Sleep was something no one ever really did in Azkaban. They closed their eyes, but it was more of a concentrated effort to block out the memories, those horrible moments in life that the dementor guards forced them to relive over and over and over again. For Severus it was witnessing Darius bully his mother; it was being dangled in midair by James Potter in front of the school after their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.; it was watching the Death Eaters hovering over Jane. The images melted together until they were all simultaneously plaguing him. Circe Snape's pleas became Potter's taunting, became the surprised gasp of Jane's last breath, became Severus' own tormented howling as he tried to drown them out. Eventually, he lost track of the number of times he brought his hands to ears in a desperate attempt to silence them all.

He wasn't aware at what point the daylight started to creep across the dusty floor of his lonely cell. He was only faintly cognizant of the fact that the spiders with which he shared his already cramped quarters were starting to trail their way across his robes with complete disregard for his presence. And when Severus raised his drooping head to find Albus Dumbledore standing opposite him outside the iron bars of his cell, he was quite nearly convinced he was hallucinating.

"Yes, that's him," Dumbledore was saying with a nod to the warden by his side - the same warden who had locked him away last night. There was a piece of parchment in his hand, which he handed to the warden then for his inspection. "The paperwork is all in order. You'll see the signature of Mr. Crouch right at the bottom."

The warden looked skeptical. He read the parchment slowly, so slowly that Severus wondered if he could actually read it at all and was merely pretending. Moments later, though, the warden's brows met in an irritated wrinkle as he rolled the paper into a tight scroll and tucked it into the confines of his robes. When his hand emerged once more, there was a ring of old-fashioned keys in his hand.

"On your feet," the warden growled at Severus as he rifled through the long silver stems in search of the proper one.

From where he sat on the floor, Severus hesitated a moment. His eyes shifted curiously from the warden to Dumbledore to the door of his cell, which, with the clank of metal on metal, was now swinging open before him. It seemed inconceivable that, after Moody's determination last night and how he had been found, the sole person at the scene of a brutal murder, he would be allowed to walk free so easily, and yet the implication of the paper, the open door, and Dumbledore's presence was clear.

"Never seen anyone who actually wanted to stay here," the warden snarled, noting Severus' confusion with cruel amusement. He swung back his foot then and, before the latter had time to recoil, brought it forward again to kick him mercilessly in the stomach. "Are you deaf, lad?! I said up!" he hissed.

Severus gasped for breath, and his face was contorted with pain. He did not, however, cry out. A childhood of enduring Darius Snape's punishments had hardened him too much for that. Just as he doubled over, though, he saw Dumbledore step swiftly between him and the warden.

"There will be no need for physical violence," the headmaster intervened calmly. "This man is, after all, no longer your prisoner."

A heavy flush rose in the warden's cheeks, and he grumbled something incoherent under his breath. As he led Severus and Dumbledore out through the winding, narrow corridors of the prison, he remained silent and bitter. It was an awkward and hasty exit from the prison, and Severus still did not completely understand what was happening. However, when he looked to the headmaster inquisitively, the older wizard seemed to avoid eye contact and offered no explanation. Only when Severus opened his mouth to speak - to ask what had happened to allow for his release - did Dumbledore's eyes register a gentle warning.

"Hush, Severus," he whispered. "I'll explain all later."

The explanation, when it was provided, astounded Severus. It had taken Dumbledore all night, but he had done it; he had convinced Bartemius Crouch to free Azkaban's most recent prisoner. Alastor Moody had been honourable enough to tell the headmaster what had happened, how he had found the young man standing over the bodies, trembling and silent, how Severus hadn't even protested or defended himself, just offered his wrists up to be bound.

"It's possible he hadn't acted alone," Moody admitted gruffly, "but the point is, Albus, that your trust in Snape was misplaced."

Dumbledore had, of course, known something about Severus that Moody didn't, and that was simply the fact that Severus owed James Potter a life debt. Severus was nothing if not proud, and he had always resented being indebted to James. He would have done anything to discharge himself of that debt, Dumbledore knew, including repaying the favour if the opportunity presented itself. The idea that Severus could have killed a member of the Potter family when he was so bound to protect the lot of them was inconceivable. Regardless of how things may have appeared at the scene, the headmaster was confident n Severus' innocence.

Fast action had been required. Dumbledore had used his influence with the Wizengamot to arrange an emergency summit in the early morning hours. He'd presented his testimony on Severus' behalf, explained about Jane and the life debt. He'd shown them evidence of the information Severus had passed on to the Order: his list of Death Eaters, which had already led to several interrogations, and how his suspicions that Voldemort was after the Meadows family had allowed them to at least save the children.

"You see, if the Order or the Ministry is to continue to have any success against Voldemort -" there was a collective shudder among those assembled at the mention of the Dark wizard's name - "it is necessary for you to release Mr. Snape," Dumbledore had explained. "He is indispensable in our network."

As to be expected, few had been willing to take a risk on a wizard who bore the Dark Mark and who, despite claims of his shifted loyalties, still fraternized with Death Eaters on a regular basis. Dumbledore understood their concerns. These were dangerous times; trusting strange witches and wizards was not considered prudent. It was only when the headmaster offered his own personal assurances that real progress in convincing the Wizengamot was achieved.

"Mr. Snape is an extraordinary young man - misunderstood but extraordinary," he had told them, "not to mention a wizard with much potential - potential which has been exploited. He has risked his life every day to compensate for his mistakes. I think we can all agree that his self-inflicted punishment is far more productive to our cause than isolating him in a cell in Azkaban ever could be."

Still, Crouch had been skeptical. "Do you realise what you're doing, Albus, defending a Death Eater - an accused murderer?" he'd blurted. "Are you willing to risk your reputation on Snape?"

Unshaken, Dumbledore had merely nodded confidently. "Not only would I risk my reputation, but I would confidently place my life in Mr. Snape's hands," he replied. "I assure that if you release Severus Snape to my custody, I will take personal responsibility for his actions."

A series of shocked murmurs reverberated throughout the courtroom at the notion that someone as venerable as Dumbledore would be willing to gamble so much on a presumed murderer. In the end, it had perhaps been this that ultimately convinced the Wizengamot to pardon Severus. Moments later, either because he wanted to prove the great Albus Dumbledore fallible or because he genuinely wanted to believe that there was still hope for defeating the Death Eaters - even if it meant trusting one of them, Crouch had signed the release papers. Severus Snape was a free man.

Listening to the headmaster relay the story of his release now, Severus was overwhelmed. He leaned forward in his chair in Dumbledore's office, eyes wide and stunned. "You... you trust me enough to have done this for me?" he gasped.

Dumbledore's eyes had only twinkled in affirmation.

"But I... I have never done anything to deserve your trust," Severus reminded him.

"Ah, Severus, you are wrong," Dumbledore said softly. "You have proven that I can trust you - you never told anyone that Remus Lupin is a werewolf, remember?"

Severus' mouth fell open in surprise for a moment. Then, finding himself unable to dispute the fact presented to him, he closed it again. It was true: not even Jane had ever known the exact details of the events that night during his sixth year at Hogwarts. While it hadn't been his plan to prove himself a man of his word by keeping Lupin's secret, he supposed that the headmaster was right nonetheless.

"The real question, though, Severus, is not if or even why I trust you," Dumbledore continued, raising his eyebrows curiously, "but rather why Voldemort targeted the Potters last night."

* * * * *

Severus loathed dressing like a Muggle. For one thing, trousers made his legs itch, and he had never in his life come across a device more sadistic than a tie. Then there was the added issue regarding the fact that these clothes brought back memories of his youth, of running away to Italy with his mother and the disasters surrounding this event. However, some things were more important than Severus' lacking comfort and his childhood trauma. Consequentially, he found himself standing in Fortnum and Mason that night, clad in a slightly mismatched suit, pretending to be examining the selection of teas.

"Are you sure you don't need help finding anything, sir?" a salesgirl with a feathery hair cut asked him for the third time.

With a scowl, Severus reached for a box of Darjeeling and, with exaggerated movements, put it in his already-brimming basket. "I'm fine," he seethed through clenched teeth. He turned away quickly, leaving the salesgirl standing speechless and shocked behind him.

The truth was, contrary to what he had told the salesgirl, matters weren't "fine." Mere hours after leaving Dumbledore's office that morning, Severus had stumbled upon the answer to the headmaster's question as to why the Dark Lord had targeted the Potters the previous night. Now, finding the headmaster to tell him was essential. Emerging from the teas, Severus hesitated when he saw him: Dumbledore was standing by the chocolates, his snowy beard trailing down the front of a black tee shirt, upon which was printed the slogan "no future"; his pants, also black, were punctuated with strategically placed tears and oversized safety pins, and across his back was a leather jacket marked with an array of Muggle symbols Severus did not even want to begin to image the meaning of. Severus rolled his eyes with exasperation. The headmaster had always donned inventive disguises during each of their meetings - sometimes Severus even suspected he did it just to annoy him. This, however, was simply ridiculous.

"You do realise that you would have been less conspicuous if you'd shown up in your robes, don't you?" Severus said irritably under his breath as he stepped up beside the headmaster. He could not help but notice the way the salespeople had beheld Dumbledore oddly.

The headmaster merely feigned innocence. "Have you tried their toffees, Severus?" he asked dismissively. "I think you would enjoy them."

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Severus followed the headmaster's lead and busied himself with selecting toffees now. "After I left the school this afternoon, the Dark Lord summoned me," he whispered surreptitiously. "When I arrived, I overheard him talking to Lucius Malfoy about the Potters."

The headmaster nodded, bidding Severus to continue as he shifted his interest to a rather large box of sherbet lemons.

"It seems as though he wasn't after George and Elizabeth Potter at all; they merely got in the way," Severus explained urgently. "It's James and Lily he wants. He thought they would be there last night."

Dumbledore paused, and when he turned to look up at Severus, his face was pale and his eyes were eager. "James and Lily Potter?" he repeated, the alarm apparent in his voice. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Severus replied. His response was a little louder and rather more indignant than he had intended, and he cast a nervous glance over his shoulder before continuing in a lowered voice. "I heard Malfoy say it himself. Something about a prophecy - I don't know the exact details. The point is, their lives are in danger. You have to hide them as quickly as possible."

The headmaster abandoned the sherbet lemons at once. There was a distant, worried look in his eyes, and he brought his slim fingers to massage his bearded chin pensively. "It is as I feared, then," he murmured.

Severus' brow wrinkled. "As you feared? You mean, you know?"

Dumbledore nodded sadly, and Severus followed him as they slowly began to walk around the store. "One hopes to be wrong about such things, of course, but I have my suspicions, yes," he replied solemnly. "You see, Severus, some time ago, a prophecy was made predicting that a child would be born, a child who would come to be marked by Voldemort and eventually become his magical rival. According to the prophecy, this child is our only real hope for ever ensuring Voldemort's fall; this child alone has the power to defeat him." The headmaster paused and looked meaningfully at Severus.

"So? How does this lead us to the Potters? There must be hundreds of magical children born in Britain every year - thousands across the world," the younger wizard pointed out. "My own child - " He stopped awkwardly there, his voice crackling at the thought of the death of his unborn daughter. "My own child might have been this coveted deliverer had circumstances been different," he finished softly. "The Dark Lord cannot just go about murdering infants at random. The sheer numbers make it impractical, if nothing else."

The headmaster's eyes widened over the rims of his spectacles. "You're correct, of course," he replied. "Voldemort's killings aren't random. By the stipulations of the prophecy - and I do have it on good authority that he is aware of at least part of the prophecy - only two children are eligible to fulfill it. One of them is Frank and Alice Longbottom's son, Neville, and the other is--"

"--is Harry Potter, James' and Lily's son," Severus finished, deducing the outcome of the headmaster's explanation.

"Precisely," Dumbledore replied, rounding a corner and examining an array of some rather fine meats behind a glass case. "Considering that Voldemort is currently targeting the Potters, specifically James and Lily, it appears that he, too, is aware of young Harry's potential to bring about his downfall. Whether or not he knows about Neville Longbottom as well is something I can only guess at." He looked expectantly up at Severus, as if to ask him he had come across any mention of the Longbottoms amongst the Death Eaters.

"I have heard nothing remarkable about the Longbottoms," the younger wizard replied. "Only the usual: the Lestranges seem to have a particular loathing for them, and the Dark Lord remains determined to make Death Eaters of them. Nothing about a child, though."

Relief flickered across Dumbledore's face at this. "This, at least, is reassuring," he said. "However, between what happened last night and what you heard this afternoon, it is clear that we cannot take any risks."

Severus nodded and swallowed hard, trying to absorb the enormity of the information Dumbledore had just shared with him. So much seemed unanswered: How had the Dark Lord found out about the prophecy? What, exactly, were the stipulations regarding the child? What could be done to possibly save a defenseless child from a wizard as powerful as the Dark Lord? The questions swam about in his mind, but there was no time to ask them all. Regardless, it was clear that matters were far more dire than Severus had ever suspected they were. Not only were innocent lives on the line, but the future of the only individual capable of bringing an end to the cycle of the Dark Lord's destruction was at stake; the fate of the wizarding community seemed to rely on the survival of a mere toddler.

Until just moments ago, the hook-nosed young man had flattered himself that it might be him who would come to play an integral role in defeating the Death Eaters. After Jane's death, he would have settled for nothing less. Now Severus cringed at the thought that a Potter should be fated for the task that had been his sole motivation for the past few months. It had been years since he had seen James Potter, and yet his legacy still haunted him. However, Severus was determined. Childhood enmity mattered little when trying to match the power of the Dark Lord, and if protecting the Potter child was the only way to ensure the Death Eaters' defeat, then Severus would do all he was able to make certain that the child grew to fulfill his destiny.

"What will we do, then?" Severus asked determinedly.

The headmaster was a silent a moment, his stare so concentrated that the sales associate standing behind the meat case mistook it for an interest in some admittedly first-rate cuts of lamb. Dumbledore brushed the sales boy away with a wave of hand. "Fidelius," he replied at last.

In retrospect, Severus supposed the Fidelius Charm must have been the most obvious method by which they could conceal the Potters. After all, it alone would ensure that they were safe from the Dark Lord forever - barring, of course, that the individual who concealed the secret of their whereabouts kept silent. The fact remained, though, that as ideal a solution as Fidelius appeared to be, it was an immensely complex spell to perform, and time to prepare for it was not something they had much of.

"Who can possibly perform it?" Severus asked. "We don't have time for errors. The Potters must be hidden now - tonight, if possible."

It went without saying that the headmaster agreed. "And they will be, Severus," he assured him. "I shall consult with Filius Flitwick; he may be able to help."

"And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime," Dumbledore replied solemnly, "we shall all have to be on high alert. Voldemort is clearly determined. He has too much at stake not to try to strike again soon."

* * * * *

Let there be no mistake about it: this was a time of war. There were the blasts from wands and the eerie, arrogant glow of the Dark Mark against the black of the night sky. There was the shouting of the masked and hooded Death Eaters as they advanced through the streets and the screams of anyone who stood against them or in their way. The alleys were a sea of death, Muggle and wizard corpses strewn amongst the toppled telephone boxes and streetlights. Somewhere in the distance, a child was curled in a ball, weeping; somewhere in the distance, a woman was watching her husband be killed, and somewhere in the distance, the Aurors were struggling to contain the uprising.

The scene was something Severus had grown accustomed to witnessing on a regular basis as the Dark Lord made increasingly bolder attempts to seize power. Tonight, however, was different. It wasn't merely the fact that they were engaged in an unprecedented attack on the Ministry of Magic; there was that gnawing, haunting feeling that reverberated through his bones, speaking softly to him, heightening his senses and warning him that something yet bleaker was on the horizon. It was a feeling that haunted him as he and Rodolphus Lestrange sidled along the dreary, graffiti-scarred street, advancing on the broken phone booth entrance to the Ministry.

"This is mad," Severus murmured as they ducked behind a felled tree for shelter from the barrage of hexes slicing through the air.

"What is?" Rodolphus asked, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

"This - taking over the Ministry," the hook-nosed wizard hissed. He narrowly dodged a bolt of light from a misfired hex. "Even if we can get in, we'll never be able to secure the building; it's too large, and the Aurors will have the help of the Muggle police any moment."

Rodolphus was peering cautiously through a tangle of tree branches now, surveying their path up the street and the Death Eaters advancing onward ahead of them. "We're not meant to actually take the Ministry - just cause a distraction, make it look like we are," he explained vaguely.

Severus faltered. "A distraction?" he questioned.

Nodding, Rodolphus withdrew from the branches and leaned against the tree beside his cousin. "The Dark Lord just wants us to occupy the Aurors for him while he sees to a rather delicate task," he replied with dark amusement.

Delicate, Severus knew from experience, was tantamount to murderous, and to have attracted the wrath of the Dark Lord himself, the victim must have been an especially formidable adversary to his cause. There were precious few people who could have attracted such attention, and by the shadowy mania that clouded Rodolphus' eyes, it was clear that tonight's murder was one of the utmost importance.

"And what delicate task might that be?" Severus spat, concealing his alarm with carefully crafted bitterness.

A cruel smile parted Rodolphus' lips. "The Dark Lord's gone after the Potters," he replied, eyes glinting. "Turns out they were hiding under Fidelius, and their Secret Keeper turned traitor."

The news struck Severus hard like lightning or a Killing Curse, leaving him open-mouthed and wide-eyed. If the Secret Keeper had revealed the Potters' location, the Fidelius Charm would be broken, and there would be no stopping the Dark Lord from finding them, from killing them - from the killing the baby fated to vanquish him. Severus could not even fathom the consequences if the Dark Lord was not stopped; the prospects were too bleak to speak of. One thing was perfectly clear: the Potters had to be warned. They had to be saved.

Severus was still churning over the possibilities when Rodolphus rose to peer through the branches again. "All right, I'm going to risk it," he said, leaning back on his haunches in preparation to run. Then, before Severus could stop him, he was gone, slipping into the shadows of the street and towards the Ministry entrance.

Alone, Severus tore the hood and mask from his head and face with frustration. If any hope remained for preserving the Potters, it rested with him. He resisted the urge to laugh out loud at the absurdity of it, the irony that although he had tried for years to forget James Potter, their fates seemed permanently and irrevocably intertwined. Severus could die tonight trying to save the Potters, to discharge his life debt and do his duty in the fight against the Death Eaters. Even if he didn't, the Dark Lord would surely kill him for having tried. Next time, Severus thought, he would have to be more careful with who he allowed to save his life.

Not a moment could be spared, and as he emerged from the protection of the fallen tree, Severus was already formulating a plan. He did not know where the Potters were hidden or even how to contact someone who did, but Dumbledore would. The headmaster had wisdom and connections and resources the hook-nosed young man could never quite understand. Severus had to meet with him; upon this, the Potters' lives depended.

Years later, Severus would still remember the unusual chill in the air, the way the frostiness burned his lungs and his breath clouded in front of him. He'd remember the rhythmic thuds made by the soles of his boots as he raced down the pavement of the Muggle street and the way his heart was beating so hard he was certain it would thump a hole in his chest. He'd remember the flash of the rogue hex as it shattered the glass of the shabby shop window beside him and the way he'd stumbled back, bowled over the by the force of the blow. Placing his hand to his side, he'd felt the warm, sticky dampness of his own blood surging from him. It had occurred to Severus that he'd been injured, and he'd staggered back a pace or two as the searing pain of glass in flesh blinded him.

It would have been easy to stay there on the ground amidst the glass and blood and rubble, to have patiently waited for the haze of death to wash over him. Severus Snape, however, had never purposely taken the easy route in life, and although he was weak and could virtually feel the life draining out of him as the moments passed, he scrambled to his feet. Sheer desperation motivated him now, kept him moving and willed him to slip into the shadows and Apparate to the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest.

The Forest was exceptionally quiet tonight. It was almost as though all the Dark creatures within were lying in solemn anticipation of the evil in the air. Severus staggered from the edge of the Forest, hand to his abdomen, and looked towards the castle. Hogwarts was so close he could see the candles illuminating the windows of the Great Hall. The students would be celebrating with their Halloween feast now, warm and laughing, with pumpkin juice and treacle tarts. They could scarcely imagine that outside, events were taking place which had the potential to change everything.

"Sev'rus? Sev'rus Snape, is that you?"

Raising his head, Severus saw Hagrid rushing towards him, crossing the grass from his hut to the edge of the Forest, where the hook-nosed wizard had since collapsed to his knees from the pain of his injury. The giant moved quicker and more swiftly than Severus had imagined his burly form capable of, and within moments, Hagrid was standing over him.

"Sev'rus! Yer hurt! Yer bleeding!" he gasped. "We gotta get yeh up ter the castle so as Madam Pomfrey can 'ave a look at yeh."

Even wounded, Severus was emphatic. "Dumbledore," he insisted. "I have to see Dumbledore!"

The next moments passed by in a blur. One moment, Hagrid was carrying him up to the castle. The gamekeeper's arms were wide and strong, and he cradled Severus against his broad chest like an infant. The next moment, Minerva McGonagall was rushing alongside them, guiding them through passages in the castle with hushed urgency. Then, he was in the headmaster's private chambers, stretched out on a chaise while a swarm of familiar faces - McGonagall's, Madam Pomfrey's, and Dumbledore's - hovered around him and fussed over him.

"It's Lily and James," Severus choked, clutching onto the headmaster's robes. He was shaking so badly he could hardly move his mouth to properly form the words. "They're in trouble."

An unprecedented panic rose in the face of the ever-placid headmaster. "The Death Eaters?"

"No, not them - Voldemort himself," Severus explained feverishly, although he did pause enough to shudder with the realisation that in his anxiety, he'd blurted the dreaded name of the Dark Lord despite himself. "He knows where they are - he got to their Secret Keeper - and he's gone after them... He's going to kill them - to kill the child."

Severus moaned in pain as Madam Pomfrey began to apply pressure to his wound to help slow the bleeding. He was, however, conscious of the way Dumbledore's brow was wrinkled with concern as he turned towards McGonagall.

"We'll need to act quickly. Alert the other members of the Order, Minerva," he told her. "I'll find out what I can and will be in touch shortly."

With a curt nod, the head of Gryffindor House turned to leave the room. McGonagall was pale, and although she was clearly trying to retain her famous composure, Severus noted that she was wringing her hands.

Dumbledore turned to Madam Pomfrey then. "Poppy, can you tend to Mr. Snape on your own?" he asked. "I have much to do."

The nurse's robes and hands were already damp with Severus' blood, and when she spoke, it was with determination. "Of course, Albus," she replied. "I will do everything I can."

The headmaster seemed satisfied, and the worry in his eyes subsided just enough to make room for a warm twinkle as he peered down at Severus over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. Then, placing a hand gently on the younger wizard's arm, Dumbledore spoke softly.

"Severus, I know it could not have been easy for you to come here tonight, for you to risk your life to save James Potter, considering your history together," he told him. "It takes a great man to do such a thing - a very great man, indeed."

* * * * *